


A Colour To Die In

by DaScribbla



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 2 - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, M/M, Not A Fix-It, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaScribbla/pseuds/DaScribbla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Banishment is a double-edged sword, as Ned and Hal discover.<br/>Or:<br/>Hal makes an ultimatum he can't stick to. Not entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Colour To Die In

_“... I shall be sent for in private to_  
_him: look you, he must seem thus to the world...”_

Falstaff, Act 5, Scene 5, 2 Henry IV

 

It was only three quarters past two in the afternoon, the peals of bells from Westminster not yet ceased, and yet it seemed to Ned that the world had fallen into silent darkness.

Falstaff and Shallow had returned earlier, the former so quiet he seemed to be a ghost of his usual self. Shallow had explained the news gravely, the entire tavern enveloped in a blanket of silence.

Two days. That’s all there was. All that their friend had granted them.

Ned lay on his bed and stared at the moth-eaten canopy. Banishment had been a word he associated with others. It was the fate of others to lose their houses, their livelihoods, their companions. It didn’t seem real to him.

If he turned his head to the side, he could still smell traces of him in the sheets.

A hand slid almost lazily across the bed, as if to find someone waiting there. Ned didn’t know what he’d expected. The other side was just as cold as he himself was.

He had to pack. He could already hear the commotion downstairs as people tried to find their possessions and as Mistress Quickly tried to settle with her renters. That brought up memories of the tavern regulars fighting to hide at the mention of the law arriving. Of helping to shove him into a chair, watching Doll perch there on his lap in a gross display of normality. Yes, dispel the rumors of the proclivities of the Prince of Wales. It honestly hadn’t mattered to him. He could hide somewhere around the corner, listen to the lip-smacking and too-loud moans, and try to postpone the heat building in his belly. What did he care what Doll had?

Within a quarter of an hour when the place was silent and sleeping, he’d pull him up the gloomy staircase, seize him by his hair to press his lips boldly against the prince’s. Blindly find their way to Ned’s room, shed clothes like the skin of a snake. Make love in the sapphire gloom.

He’d let his affairs keep until tomorrow. For now, there would be day darkening into bloody sunset into blue nightfall. There would be the room, and the bed. He wanted the bed for as long as he could keep it.

Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps he had not meant for Ned to be included. Perhaps there had been some mistake. Ned was desperate as he lay there, hoping for some kind of repeal. Like God could take back thunderbolts.

There were two days. Perhaps he’d come to say goodbye. Cloaked, creeping through the night to sneak upstairs and push open his door. To breathe an apology onto his skin, his name kissed on his mouth.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Hal’s lips at the line of his jaw.

He was no fool, but the more he thought of it the more it seemed as though it would happen. As if he only had a few more hours to wait until he came. Like this was normal. Like anything would ever be normal again.

Or perhaps he would arrive earlier and for once they could love each other in daylight. That would be a suitable parting gift, if Ned really had to leave. A chance to witness every moment, unmarred by shadow.

He could love him until the sky lightened to the shade of watery blue they knew too well. Till their bodies melded into a single ocean wave, a single flame, melting into the sheets. The way he had pinned him against his poor mattress, the way they had found a new heaven there in that bedroom. Heaven but not Heaven, Hell but no Hell. A Purgatory of a different kind.

At nights they would lie together until they slept, Hal’s head buried in the crook of Ned’s chin and throat. The back of his neck would be stiff in the morning, but it would be worth it. One morning, not so long ago, Ned woke first to find they had shifted positions. He was on his stomach, one arm caught beneath Hal’s body. He heard the prince wake and shift till he was facing Ned, who pretended to slumber on. Felt the heat of his gaze for several long minutes and then Hal, so softly he must not have known Ned was awake, ran his lips across the shell of his ear, down across the side of his neck. He traced both of his shoulder blades with his mouth before placing a gentle kiss at the small of his back. Ned smiled as if in sleep; Hal lay back carefully and continued to watch him with a small sigh.

Ned opened his eyes with a gasp, feeling tears slip into his hair and then into the blanket.

Had he known? Had he known even then what he would do? Even as they fucked lazily later that same morning, had it been in his mind?

He never planned to keep me, he realized with a sick feeling in his stomach.

After that, he could no longer keep his choking tears silent. He sobbed like a child and waited for darkness to come.

* * *

 Lying in his father’s bed felt worse than he had ever imagined it would. Not only did it drive home the fact that Henry was gone beyond the place where Hal could reach him, he could feel the cares of all the other kings who had slept in that same bed.

He remembered Richard better than his father had thought-- much in the same way that his father had assumed he paid little attention in court. He had thought of Richard more in these last few days than he had in his entire life.

What if he had miscalculated? What if his story was meant to finish in the same manner as the man his father deposed? If he was unfit to rule, what would become of him?

Did he even have the right to rule?

At some point, his life had become a series of rhetorical questions.

His father’s bedroom was cast in shadow.

He had said something about shadows on the last day. Hal wished he could recall it. He’d only been half-listening.

He had not listened to him enough, a voice in his head whispered. Hal pushed it away and rolled over, trying to find sleep. He knew he would not. Not for a long while.

Not until he could slay his ghosts.

There was a chill in the room that the blankets refused to shut out. At first, Hal wondered if he was ill and then he remembered. He had not slept alone in some time. Part of him wanted to believe that he would wake with him at his side, playing with his hair like he always did. But what use was there in dwelling? He’d made the right decision, he knew he had.

So why did he feel as though there was an anvil on his chest, weighing on him, dragging him further to the ground?

Would he have had the courage to go through with it had he been there?

He covered his face with his hands in the darkness. It would feel better after he’d slept. If he ever slept again. It was guilt he felt, he knew.

He’d done nothing wrong. If he repeated it for long enough, he might even begin to take it as gospel. In spite of himself, he began to mull over time, over their drunken meetings.

What had the last time been like? A lot of limbs. He remembered that. Hal’s legs falling apart, his lips pressing against the place between his thigh and groin. He had pulled him upwards, for a real kiss… a kiss. So many until he lost count of them all, skin slipping on skin. He said his name so often, a constant refrain throughout their lovemaking: Hal, Hal, Hal… but Hal couldn’t remember if he ever said his back. He must have done. After all… it was so easy to do, wasn’t it?

_Ned. His name was Ned._

Hal rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin in his hands. He was still wide-awake. Sleep used to be such a simple task. They never thought beyond putting their heads on the pillow, the size of the bed crowding them together.

The sound, the scent of him. The first night. There had been no thought that he could recall. He just remembered his breath-- hot on his cheek, his shoulder. His lips going numb. The final coital gasps that turned to exhausted laughter at something Ned had said. Ned collapsing beside him, one arm draped over his side. The moonlight cast a pearl-like glow on their skin. Hal could not look at him for long. He never could

He turned onto his back, feeling something like regret curling in his belly. The thought came to his mind immediately-- I should visit him-- but he dismissed it.

There was no going back. Not now. Not ever.

No matter what he wished.

He would be strong. That was his role now. That was his part and he would play it until his dying day, or be damned.

 

* * *

 

He watched the sun rise and fall through his window and barely moved. Their final day to pack and settle their affairs had come. Tomorrow they’d be flung from the city.

Ned lay back and tried to deny the streaks of orange and pink that ran across the sky, heralding the sunrise. He’d run out of tears a day ago. Now he just lay there in some sort of shock.

Sometime around midnight, he’d decided that it had probably been his fault. What else could it have been? Sure, it had been Hal who had called banishment on them all but it had been Ned who trusted him. He should have known better.

_Don’t trust any of them. No bright-eyed woman. No beautiful boy._

_They command your adoration and then they destroy you for it._

A knock at the door wasn’t quite enough to rouse him from his thoughts. It was only when someone was standing over his bed that he tore himself from his reverie.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“A great deal,” said Mistress Quickly. “But that’s not I’m here. I’ve just come from Sir John.” There was a pause. “I thought you might need help. With your packing.”

Ned stared at her blankly for a moment and then nodded.

“Fine.”

The woman sighed and swatted Ned’s shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Get up. I’m not doing this on my own, lad.”

He covered his face with his hands and groaned. It felt like a decade had passed since he’d last stood. When he did, a wave of vertigo ran through him. But he was quiet and did where Mistress Quickly told him.

There wasn’t much to pack. Most of his things were still at his family’s house, nearer to the court. He didn’t plan to return there. Hearing his parents’ tirade on how he’d destroyed the standing of their house was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t trust himself to maintain a mask now and besides, his father wouldn’t appreciate tears. Ned was not easily moved; he’d been sixteen the last time he wept to this extent.

Sorting through the scant clothes piled in the scuffed wardrobe, his fingers brushed something smoother and of far better quality than his own doublets. Frowning, he glanced behind him at Mistress Quickly, who was taking the sheets off his bed.

It was deep green, made of some material Ned had no name for. It had to be Hal’s. With another furtive look at Mistress Quickly, he breathed in the scent of his prince. It was all but faded now. He’d take it with him, as some way to remember.

Mistress Quickly had given him a bag to put his things in. Ned knew he’d be charged for that too.

But it was no matter, was it? He was already in debt for countless things and he knew he’d likely never repay it all. Staring around the now empty-looking room, he found himself burdened with a sort of nostalgia. He wouldn’t miss the place at all. Honestly, he’d welcome anything to free himself of Falstaff’s constantly acidic remarks -- he’d known at least something of what they’d been doing, he must have-- and the ongoing argument between Falstaff and Mistress Quickly. But there was something he would miss. Leaving was always hard for Ned. Leaving and being left.

* * *

 Night came too swiftly and Ned could no more sleep than he could outrun the coming morning. Instead he lay on his now-bare bed and lived through his past. Perhaps he could stay a little longer if he pretended all was well and the prince was by his side once more. What better way to spend his last hours in London than to remember his happiest ones?

He had said something once, one night when they’d both been so drunk they’d lost all their barriers and inhibitions.

“Ned, time passes so damned quickly. I wonder why you spend it all with me.”

“I could ask you the same question.”

They’d bedded each other again that night. Completely unmemorably except for that single exchange.

That had been the best thing though. They’d been able to grow unmemorable. In the past, Ned had looked on the idea with contempt. What was the point of fucking if it all grew to be the same? But he’d learned all of Hal -- physically at least -- and it had become a gift. In the end, he’d known when Hal would peak minutes before it happened. Could hear it in his breath, feel it in the way his hands would tighten. Every night the same, down to the way they curled up together. Ned spent every day waiting for the moment when he’d be able to feel the thud of Hal’s pulse against his sternum, to stroke his hair as he fell asleep. He’d grown to revel in their symmetry.

He heard the door open, almost noiseless footsteps on the floorboards. He knew without needing to look. There was a swish of fabric, like a cloak falling to the floor.

Silence. A pause that ached with waiting.

There was an intake of breath as Ned blindly reached out and grasped his intruder’s wrist. He’d thought he’d wept his last, but a new lump was forming in his throat. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. Because already their lips were meeting. It was thoughtless… pure instinct… In the moonlight, Hal already looked older. No longer a boy, not even a man. Something on a higher plane of existence.

They pulled away and Hal dropped his gaze.

“Ned, I had to come back--”

He laid a finger against Hal’s lips.

“I don’t want to hear your voice. I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

Hal nodded, seeming to find that fitting. The second kiss spoke for itself as Ned pulled him-- or perhaps he let himself fall-- to the bed.

Ten minutes later, they both stared up at the canopy in a state halfway between satisfaction and shock. The air was cold on their bare skin and it took all of Ned’s willpower not to pull the man beside him closer. He no longer had the right. Hal was bleeding but neither looked to it. Both their bodies ached. Looking over at him, Ned took in his form -- all shadows and small flashes of light. Unchanged. It should have changed. How could anything about them remain the same when all this had happened? But here he was. Still devastatingly beautiful. Still thoughtlessly cruel, as only a young prince could be. King. A young king. That thought broke him more than all the others. In so many ways, he was no longer his to touch. Hal met his gaze for only a moment before diverting it to the small stretch of bed that remained between them.

“Hal... what have you done?”

His words were soft in the silence of the night.

“I don’t know. Not anymore.”

They lapsed into quiet, each lost in his own thoughts. Hal’s hipbone was perfectly illuminated in the light from the window. Ned turned his face away, into the gloom.

“I trusted you,” he said aloud. It was a long time before Ned heard a reply.

“I know.” Hal breathed a shaky sigh. “I cannot call it back, Ned. You know that.”

“I know.”

 _One day,_ Ned thought, _all this will fade away. His face will become a distant memory. Something to stumble across and be hurt by, like the prick of a thistle. Nothing more. All of this will go one day.  He will forget me and everything I said, and I him. One day this will no longer pain me. Everything comes out gray in the end. There is no other color._

“I wish you had never come,” he whispered.

“So do I.”

Their last time had been nothing and had meant less. An anticlimactic ending to their sordid affair.

“Ned,” Hal began, “Please know that… I would do nothing to erase the last few years. I regret nothing of what we have done. I will always think of you.” The words sounded hollow to Ned’s ears.

“Please…” he whispered, still staring at the opposite wall. “Just go. Just go.”

He listened to the sound of Hal rising without complaint, if somewhat stiffly -- _at least I have left him with a limp_ \-- and dressing, picking up his fallen cloak. There was a short pause, as if Hal wanted to say something more. Ned felt the tightening in his chest and pressed his fist to his mouth as his eyes welled up and with his tears came a word of pure desperation that rang loud in the quiet.

“Wait-- _Hal!_ ”

He sat up and looked to the rest of the room but he’d already gone.

* * *

 He didn’t understand why he had done it. It had been madness, surely, to return and torture himself. He supposed he had wanted to ease the pain of their parting. If that was so, he had succeeded only in worsening it for himself. And for Ned. Especially for Ned. He had been near tears when Hal had finally taken his leave of him; no amount of attempted stifling had been able to hide it. And Hal… Hal couldn’t even look at him without an army of over-complex desires coursing through him as if they would split his veins and burst from him in an explosion of light. And through all of it, Ned had remained on his side of the bed, turned away. Simply a shadow on the bare mattress. Deep down, he knew that was how he would always remember him.

The streets were dark and the king walked through them unnoticed.

He’d found one of Ned’s doublets in his wardrobe the other day. He didn’t know how it had come to be there. It had grown an easy thing to thrown on the other’s clothes. Ned likely had one of his. That was fitting, he supposed.

It was comforting to think that all of his memories would blur together in the future. That was what he wanted, more than anything. For the pain to go away. Because he was in pain, try as he might to deny it. He should never have allowed it to go so far. He’d done it, he told himself, to sink himself in a little further. Perhaps Ned had made the first pass, perhaps he had. He couldn’t remember. He had forgotten the start of it and all that remained was what it had become. Their strange friendship, full of things left unsaid and things that should have been. And how easily they’d laughed: through drinking, tiptoeing upstairs when all the world melted to one, through ripping away clothes as if they were a personal offence. To sink into each other’s arms. To fall and yet to soar. There had been times when it had been nearly impossible for Hal to catch his breath and others when his arms had wrapped around the other’s body, a moan choking in his throat. Their hips moving achingly slow. And remembered a lock of hair falling into Ned’s eyes as he leaned over him, remembered kissing it and then him. Deep, slow. As if all the world had ceased motion for them in that single moment. They were all that existed. They had been all that mattered.

He would not allow himself the word, but he knew it could have been spoken of them. As much as one could, between catamites.

But tonight had been nothing but desperate. One last touch, one last soul-searing kiss to see if Ned could make amends for something he hadn’t done and if Hal could find it in himself to be moved. To try and retrieve what they’d had for one more time. Rough pulling, rough kisses. Bruised hips. Other times they had made love. Tonight they’d fucked.

The king stopped short and looked over his shoulder, back at the distant lights of Eastcheap. It seemed to him that they were burning into his very soul, scorching the last vestiges of Hal away. What a pair they had made, he and Ned. Himself a man who took selfishly even as he gave and then Ned, who had given away every last scrap of himself for nothing. He’d only asked for Hal. The one thing it was outside of his power to give him.

Eastcheap’s lights left imprints of themselves in his eyes; a thousand shades of red and yellow flashed on and on in his vision as he turned away. Behind him, they continued to burn until pale dawn arrived and doused them all.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this popped into my brain a few weeks ago and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. The ending is kind of weak, I know, but honestly my inspiration petered out right there.
> 
> If you're interested in more Shakespearean mania and further hal/ned feelings, feel free to find me at princehalsdaddyissues on tumblr. You can also find my main blog at andtheansweris42.


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